The train pulled into the station
It was the beginning years
The days were not my own
Her, yanking my arm as we boarded
Me, following unsteadily down the row
Hers, the only seat available
Something to be shared
Something to be taken
The sounds of the engine and passengers
Giving me hope for more
My purpose and destination unknown

The train pulled into the station
It was the young years
The days were meant to be savored
Me, ravenous for freedom
Her, a haunting presence
Something to avoid
Something to push to the future
My seat by the window, roomy with possibilities
Giving me hope for more
My purpose and destination are mine

The train pulled into the station
It was the middle years
The days were lived for others
Me, dragging myself aboard
Her, a presence in a crowded aisle
Something to hide from
Something to question
The window frosted over, hiding the passage of time
My purpose and destination traded away

The train pulls into the station
It is the golden years
The days and story my own to reclaim
Me, climbing aboard, prepared and vigilant
Her, diminished but unforgotten
My seat fully my own
Some stories to be shared
Some spirit to be rekindled
The sunset out the window, guiding the autumn of my life
My purposes and destination lighting the open road ahead